King Safety
by Ieyre
Summary: [When the king is at the center of the board, one must draw the rook into play to reduce his vulnerability.] Peter Pan goes to see how his old friend Rumplestiltskin is doing after the squid ink Neal used wears off for them both. Coda to "Nasty Habits," Angsty!Gold and Manipulative!WayTooPersonal!Pan, mentions of Belle and Baelfire.


**This was meant to be a coda scene between Rumplestiltskin and Pan after the events and fallout from "Nasty Habits," but I seem to have a habit of writing elaborate one-shots that a later episode renders completely non-canon compliant. So consider this an alternate take on a post 3X04 confrontation between the Dark One and his number one bestie. Feedback is always appreciated.**

The Dark One was rooted to his spot in the darkened clearing on the northernmost tip of the island. He had not moved since sending Belle away. He'd entertained the idea of following Bae into the jungle—_Neal_, he corrected himself, it was Neal now, and though the name sent a short stab of pain to the left side of his chest, he _would _use it—but he'd dismissed it just as quickly.

It was already too late.

"Bae used that same trick on you, didn't he?"

He gritted his teeth at a voice he'd hoped more than once never to hear again.

"He _did_." Rumplestiltskin could picture the look of unadulterated, _boyish _delight on the immortal's face. He could taste it in the air, the smells of a summer festival mixed with heavy jungle heat. Youth eternal personified. "How'd he pull that off?"

"He…held my hand."

Pan let out a low whistle.

"Using the emotional weaknesses of his enemy against him. He's more like you than you'd think."

"He's _nothing_ like me," the Dark One hissed, viciously. A volatile mix of anger, pain, and self-loathing bubbled below the surface. This leashed violence did not phase the boy in the slightest.

"In all the ways that really count, he is, Rumple." One eyebrow quirked, and he continued, casually, "It must hurt, knowing Bae thinks of us as the same."

"He doesn't."

"No. He respects me more." Rumple glared, stonily. "And in spite of everything, he still loves you. But that just makes everything a thousand times worse, doesn't it?"

His eyes narrowed imperceptibly, before turning on Pan, shrewd and hard.

"You wanted me here. Why?"

Peter Pan only smiled.

"Tell me—what's the point in a game if you don't respect the players?"

"Flattering, but the question remains. You don't need my power," he reasoned. "And I'm useless as leverage."

"Don't undersell yourself, Rumple." He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "You're the Dark One. A powerful weapon just _waiting_ to be controlled. You're the ultimate leverage."

"That is not what I _meant_," he snapped, and then, rubbing his temple, went on wearily, "Nobody on this island cares if I live or die."

Pan laughed.

"You're always so _dramatic_." His wicked smile widened. "What about our dear friend the Captain? I'm sure _he_ at least would still leap at the chance to kill you."

"There's nothing you want from Hook you need _me_ to get."

"That's true. But you underestimate how much Baelfire still cares for you," Pan said, stretching one arm behind his head with inhuman dexterity. "Most sons wouldn't take a planned murder attempt on their child by their father _nearly _so well."

"He's never going to trust me again." He'd known this from the moment the leaf had fluttered to the ground, but speaking the words out loud—and not to the Belle of his fantasies, but to the boy who knew him just as well and whose favorite weapon was the truth—coagulated it into something as hard and ugly as it was true. "Not after this."

"You're right."

Gold snapped his head upwards toward, Pan who was walking the impossibly thin tightrope of a jungle vine.

"You wanted him here to use against _me_."

The boy, standing on one foot dangling daringly above, placed a hand over his heart and crossed it, neatly.

"I wanted to bring the whole family together."

Whether that was true or not—and there was a part of Gold that did think it was—Pan believed it, and in Neverland, that was all that mattered.

"You're in a tight spot, Dark One." The title was not something to be feared or respected from the boy's lips—more an amusing pet name. Pan swung down towards him. "When the rest of Henry's family finds Bae, he's going to tell them all about the prophesy."

"That's no great loss," he replied, and he rolled through the catalogue of interactions—Emma's face stood out most clearly, that last look of incredulity before his dramatic exit off Hook's ship… "None of them trusted me much to begin with."

"It's too bad you gave your son a choice this time." He leaned forward, and gave his old friend a sympathetic pat on the arm. "You should have knocked them both out."

"There's another way."

"Giving Baelfire the Dark One dagger," Peter completed his thought, and, eerily, it reminded Rumplestiltskin of the vision of Belle. But Pan had known him longer than anyone alive, so perhaps he was entitled to wield that knowledge like sword. He'd certainly had enough practice playing with them. "Are you _seriously _considering that?"

"If I _can't_ hurt Henry, there's a chance he might let me back in."

"Even if you could get your shadow to retrieve it, seems a bit rash for you." Pan cocked his head to one side, weighing the matter like one of his favorite guessing games. "Sure, Bae might let you be around him, but you'd also be risking me getting my hands on it. What a toy _that _would be."

"Is that…really what you want?"

"Let me put it this way," Pan leaned over, fixing his eyes unblinkingly on him. "If I can control you with a knife…why do I need Bae?"

"You've overplayed your hand." He replied, voice suddenly shaking. "You brought him here to weaken my resolve, but with no chance of Bae's forgiveness, rescuing the boy is all I've got to hope for."

"But will you ever _really _stop hoping, Rumple? After three hundred years of searching, countless lives ruined…can you turn it off like that?" His smile twisted into something ugly. "Or are you just _lying _to yourself again?"

"I was honest with him."

"Because I forced you to be. And not about everything." Pan plopped down on the log next to him. "You've never told him the truth about us."

"He didn't need that burden."

The boy shot him an incredulous look.

"Such an overbearing parent. You know, if you'd just let Bae be the solider you could never be, then none of this would have happened. But you couldn't let him go." He leaned his cheek against his fist; Pan was a lanky boy, and his extended adolescence gave every youthful gesture an aura of the grotesque. "Are you overcompensating for something?"

"This is not about _him_," Rumplestiltskin hissed back, through bared teeth. Peter flashed his own canines in an indulgent smile.

"Isn't it?" He leaped forward and nimbly plucked something from the man's right breast pocket—a small straw doll. "What's this doing here, then?"

"The island won't let me get rid of it!"

Gold's temper had gotten the better of him at last.

"Neverland doesn't work like that, laddie—a fact you know, no matter what visions tell you otherwise." Pan raised one eyebrow knowingly. "No matter how pretty their trappings."

"Do _not_ speak about Belle."

"She's something special, Rumple. You've been holding out on me. Where _do _all these extraordinary brunettes come from?" He circled the older man slowly. "You'd think a man who hates himself as much as you do would aim a little lower. It's like you're asking for it."

"Belle's different."

"Than Milah? Or Cora?" He was right up against the shoulder, hot breath mixing with the stifling humidity of the jungle. "But you've always pushed her away before she got the chance to leave you. Is that why you didn't bring her here?"

"That was to protect her." The mantra had begun to sound hollow to his own ears: at best it amused Pan.

"From what—me?" Pan spun on his heel, innocently. "Or from being turned against you?"

Gold closed his eyes.

"…From both."

"_There_ it is." Pan breathed deeply, inhaling the last of the Dark One's hopes as they withered and started to die.

"You have Bae, don't you?"

"Without you to protect him," Pan rose, heavily. "It was too easy. He should've trusted you."

"Is he…did you…?"

"If anything happens to him, you'll know."

Gold slowly nodded. Around any other being he would have hidden the immense relief. He touched the spot on his right cheekbone where the war paint was still smeared. Dreamshade over the eye—capable of blinding and slowly killing anyone else at the slightest touch. He rubbed at it with the back of his hand, violently—knowing in that moment that it was no better than the masks that Pan's boy followers wore, dancing to primitive beats around the fire. The mask of a school boy.

Everyone on this island who mattered could see through it.

"Is there something else?"

"Why are you doing this?" Rumplestiltskin repeated his question. He was more pleading this time, more lost.

Pan considered him.

"To save magic. You know that."

"I'm not asking why you took Henry. I'm asking you why everyone _else _is here."

"Henry's family came to rescue him, how could I help that?"

"You didn't try very hard to _stop_ any of us."

"…I like games where the pieces come in all shapes and sizes."

It took a moment of methodical thinking for the light bulb to turn on.

"Ms. Swan."

"'The Savior'…Emma. I like her. Bae has good taste. And I've never seen magic quite like hers."

"She doesn't know how to use it."

"Yet. She's with that queen, though, who I recall had an _excellent_ teacher."

"Dark and light magic…together. You need both."

"And the product of it. You're so clever Rumple, you don't even need my help." Peter suddenly threw him back the doll, which he caught out of the air. "The answer is right at your fingertips."

The boy jerked his head toward the doll. He looked down at it, and though he'd spent more time the last few days than he cared to admit pondering the toy, only in this moment did he really _see _it.

"You know how important promises are to me." The voice was suddenly whispering in his ear, "I'm keeping a promise…to a friend."

When he could bear to look up again, Pan was gone.

The clearing felt colder.


End file.
